Audio of me singing the song Sansa wrote for Ned, The Honest Hand, can be heard at https/soundcloud.app.goo.gl/7jPbc3URC3gSmeXXA

Late August, 299 AC

"Do we have any other matters?" Cersei glanced down the table where Pycelle, Rosby, and Varys sat. Tyrion rubbed his aching head. Was it not bad enough that he must sup with Cersei tonight? Holding court was as tedious as it was lengthy.

Two knights complained that a whore had given them the pox, and the queen ordered that the trembling woman have her private parts scrubbed with lye. A baker complained of being robbed by his own sellswords, and the queen told him to hire his men more wisely. A bedmaid accused a head groom of rape, and Cersei told her to focus on her work, not waste time in the stables. A pair of thieves were dispatched to the dungeons; a murderer was condemned to death. The last case was a singer accused of writing a treasonous song.

"I didn't write it," he pleaded, flinging himself to his knees. "I heard it played and learnt it, the song is all over the city, it isn't mine."

"If the song is so popular, you should be honored to perform it for your queen," Cersei said. The singer's eyes widened, and he begged for mercy, insisting his voice was not fit for such high and noble listeners.

"Play," Cersei insisted, and a guard handed the man his harp. The man gulped so loudly Tyrion could hear him from his place at the high table, and began to play.

The King he rode for Winterfell

to seek an honest man

the lord there knew his duty well

and said he'd serve as hand

The Hand he was a northern lord

with eyes as grey as stone

The Hand he wore a noble sword

Valyrian steel sharp honed

The Queen she wore a golden crown

and gold shone in her hair

The Queen she wore a crimson gown

and emerald was her stare

Her brother was a Kingsguard knight

her twin in birth and fame

Their beauty hid a vicious blight

a dark and secret shame

The King was hunting in the wood

The boy had naught to do

A broken tower lonely stood

against the sky of blue

The boy he climbed with grace and skill

and to his great surprise

he heard soft voices in the chill

and then a woman's cries

The boy he looked inside and saw

Two lovers bare as babes

Their hair was golden as the straw

And bloody was their rage

The Queen she saw the helpless child

and in that evil hour

her brother took the boy and smiled

and flung him from the tower

His body broke upon the stones

yet still his life he kept

His father prayed in the godswood alone

his mother in the sept

The gods revealed the truth ere long

the Queen's crime left its traces

the honest Hand saw what was wrong

writ on her children's faces

The Hand offered her mercy, shown

to spare the children's lives

But when you play the game of thrones

you win, or else you die

Boar's tusks ripping from nipple to groin

the good king's life did end

with lordships and with golden coin

the queen betrayed his friend

They forced the Hand down to his knees

his daughter screamed and wept

the bastard King ignored her pleas

and blood profaned the Sept

The King he rode for Winterfell

to seek an honest man

the lord there knew his duty well

and said he'd serve as hand

"You spoke truly," Cersei said coldly, her face as white as a corpse. "The song was not fit for any audience."

She beckoned a pale slender hand at Sir Ilyn, and the pockmarked knight stepped forward.

"Take this man out and remove his treasonous head. Be sure to take his tongue and his fingers first."


Shae's eyes were wide, their depths as dark and unknowable as the night. He should not have slapped her, nor told her of Tysha. But whatever thoughts ran through her head, her body was his to command. Tyrion kissed Shae's cheek, his lips brushing against the red mark where he'd struck her.

He stepped back, and suddenly Shae's hair was longer, her eyes as blue as the sky. "You hurt me," Tysha whispered, her eyes full of tears. "Why did you hurt me?"

Tyrion awoke with a start. A ginger cat perched on his belly, its green eyes perturbed.

"It was for her own good," Tyrion told the cat. "She's safer here than in the manse." He'd glimpsed her once or twice with Lollys, her cheek bruised where he had struck her. Perhaps he'd send for her tonight, after his dinner with Cersei. Tyrion would not miss riding to Chataya's and climbing through wardrobes. Alayaya was a sweet girl, but passing through a gauntlet of overly attentive whores irritated him. Pretty they might be, but Shae was all he needed.

The cat mewled unhappily as Tyrion sat up. Maegor's Holdfast was only safer than the manse so long as the city held. Storm's End fallen, Winterfell fallen, and still no word from his father. Had he crossed the Red Fork to defend the Westerlands? There was no need for it, not now. Robb Stark would soon be gone, off to reclaim Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy was more sly than Tyrion had imagined. Though it was hardly a thing of glory, taking a castle from a cripple and a toddler.

Tyrion sighed, absentmindedly scratching the cat's chin as he thought. Had Uncle Kevan reached Bitterbridge in time? Mace Tyrell might be a pompous fool, but he was a pompous fool they sorely needed. Stannis could be upon the city within a fortnight, and Tyrion had no army to resist him, just his wits, his chain, and his wildfire.

The city was nearly as volatile as the alchemists' substance. Though it had been over a moon's turn, the rabble were still furious over the Bread Riot. Cersei bore the brunt of their ire. She couldn't ride through the city without calls of 'brotherfucker' and 'murderer' following her train. Not that it stopped her from riding out anyway. His sweet sister was near as practiced as Lord Tywin at ignoring what she did not wish to hear. Given that the mob had murdered Ser Preston Greenfield and the High Septon with their bare hands, Tyrion had to admire her audacity.

No one mourned much for either man. The queen had wanted to appoint Ser Balon Swann to replace Meryn Trant, but their uncle had persuaded her to keep the seat open for a man of Tywin's choosing. With Ser Preston dead, and Kevan gone, Cersei was free to place a white cloak about Ser Balon's shoulders. Truth be told, the change was an improvement. Unlike Greenfield, who came from an ancient but minor house, Swann came from a line of powerful Marcher lords. He was handsomer than Ser Preston, had better manners, and had better skill at arms.

As for the old High Septon, many of the begging brothers declared that he had deserved his fate for being so fat when the smallfolk were starving. Well, the new High Septon was a frail old man, as wrinkled and skinny as one could wish. Tyrion had made sure of it.

At least the begging brothers weren't calling for Stannis. His red priestess had put paid to that when she burned the godswood at Storm's End. It was easy enough to convince the new High Septon that Stannis would do the same to the Great Sept. Bel reported that the whores didn't like Stannis either, what with him trying to ban brothels a few years past. Bronn hadn't brought much information from her lately, but it never hurt to have ears on the Street of Silk. The sellword reported the madam remained grateful for Tyrion's patronage, and was spending the gold on repairs and keeping the whores fed, no easy task with food prices so high.

Food prices kept rising, as did the city's anger. Burning the waterfront had been necessary, but them that lived there cared more for their pitiful hovels than for strategy. If they didn't open the gates for Stannis, there were others who might. Plenty of Flea Bottom remembered the sack of King's Landing. And if those fools open the gates, their precious city will be sacked again. I am all that keeps this city from falling to ruin, and still they call me a demon monkey. Tyrion clenched his fist, and the cat yowled, leaping away with a hiss. He'd forgotten his hand was around the cat's jaw.

Someone timidly rapped at his door. "Come in," Tyrion said, hopping down from his bed. Podrick Payne entered, staring at the floor as usual.

"It's time, my lord," Pod told Tyrion's bare feet. "I mean, it's the time you told me to wake you? For dinner?"

Tyrion sighed. The nap had not proved as refreshing as he'd hoped. He needed all his wits about him for a meal with Cersei.

"Yes, thank you. The velvet tunic, if you please, and quick about it." Pod hurried to fetch it from his chest, smoothing out the plush crimson fabric and brushing off a few specks of lint.

"Ser Aron says you sparred with the other squires a few days past."

It had been nearly the only thing Ser Aron had said during last night's meal. He had been even grimmer than usual since the crowd nearly pulled him off his horse during the riot. Lady Cedra was pleasant as ever, though she had no new reports on Littlefinger's accounts.

"Pages, my lord. Sir. Not squires. I lost," Pod informed the ceiling as he lifted the tunic over Tyrion's head. Well, the lad was skinny, and new to training.

"Ask Ser Aron to teach you strengthening exercises," Tyrion said. "There are ways to make your arms stronger, and that will help. Though there's much to be said for the element of surprise."

"My lord?"

Tyrion smiled as the boy fastened his belt. "No one expects violence from a dwarf, and I'm a smaller target than they're used to. That saved me on the Green Fork." Pod's eyes were wide with awe, doubtless imagining Tyrion cutting his way through the battlefield as if he were Jaime. The idea both pleased and annoyed him.

Tyrion was nearly late, thanks to Varys catching him in the yard. Still, the letter merited the delay. As Tyrion climbed the steps he saw the boys' faces, those dark red-brown locks and Tully blue eyes. Tyrion wondered if anyone had made Bran the saddle he designed. It was a poor apology for his family's role in crippling the boy, but at least the boy would have been able to ride before... well. It was time to see how Cersei took the news.

Tyrion had hoped to see the Kettleblacks standing guard, but his hopes were disappointed. It seemed Kettleblacks were worming their way into the queen's good graces far too slowly, damn them. He'd have to have a word with Bronn. Surely there was something they could do to win Cersei's trust.

Instead, Ser Mandon Moore and the Hound awaited him on either side of the oaken doors of Cersei's solar. Ser Mandon's face was blank as ever, his eyes as cold as his white armor. The Hound looked no friendlier, the torchlight flickering over his scars. No wonder Cersei kept them as her shadows; they'd kill a man without flinching, and forget his name within the hour.

Cersei was a much prettier sight, lovely in a gown of deep green velvet. Her golden hair tumbled down her shoulders, a crown resting easily upon her curls. Trystane Martell was a lucky boy, if Myrcella grew to be half as beautiful as her mother.

"You seem to grow more beautiful each time I see you," Tyrion said, bowing. Cersei did not even pretend to smile. Since the riot she barely tolerated him at best; the invitation to supper had come as an unpleasant surprise.

"What's that?" She demanded, pointing at the scroll in Tyrion's hand.

"Why, news from the North. Varys asked that I bring it to you immediately." He presented the scroll with another bow and watched Cersei's face as she read. After a moment her eyebrows furrowed. Jaime struggled with reading, but Cersei read nearly as fast as Tyrion, when she bothered.

"It would seem we are exceptionally lucky," Tyrion said dryly. "Though Varys says the boy testified before half the lords of the north before Robb Stark marched south."

"The word of a cripple is nothing," Cersei said, setting the letter down with a moue of distaste. "The word of a dead cripple is even less than nothing."

"Even when it's the truth?"

Cersei was still glaring at him when the servants brought the wine. She took small sips of sweet Arbor gold, savoring the wine until the servants left them alone.

"Catelyn Stark must be as mad as her sister by now," Cersei said with a nasty smile. "Her husband dead, her daughters missing, doubtless dead, her sons murdered by her foster son."

Tyrion shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The woman was fiercely dedicated to her family; his brush with death was proof of that. With only one child left to her, what would the woman do to protect him? If she persuaded Lysa Arryn to support Robb Stark...

"Perhaps," Tyrion said, taking a gulp of wine. "But a wounded beast is dangerous."

Cersei waved a pale slender hand dismissively. "A wounded fish, more like. As cold and dull as the northman she married."

That cold, dull northman nearly got your head on a spike, sweet sister . More fool he. Offering mercy to Cersei was like rolling oneself in honey and lying down in front of a bear.

"At any rate, Robb Stark will be marching north, and good riddance," Tyrion said, resisting the urge to tweak Cersei's tail. "Let him break himself against the ironmen; Moat Cailin has never fallen."

"Unlike King's Landing," Cersei said sharply. "I still think we should send Tommen away before Stannis arrives." Not this again.

"Tommen is the king. He must stay in the city to inspire the defenders," Tyrion said carefully. Cersei glared.

"No one need know he is gone. Simply announce that he has redspots and is confined to his chambers." The childhood illness was mild, but contagious.

"He had redspots two years ago," Tyrion said patiently," and doubtless there are plenty who remember. Besides, it is hard to persuade men to fight for a child king. A sickly child king? Rumors run wild. A redhaired girl became a red wolf; far easier for redspots to become some fatal ailment. Within hours half the city will believe that the king is dead."

Cersei grimaced, and he knew he had her.

"I want him safe. Here, with me, in Maegor's Holdfast." Tyrion shook his head as servants placed creamy chestnut soup and crusty hot bread on the table.

"He must be in public view. The Great Sept is safe; the High Septon can be trusted to watch over Tommen." And see that the boy was spirited away if the battle turned ill, but Cersei needn't know about that. He was sick of arguing with her. "Tommen will have Ser Addam and Ser Boros with him at all times, and a crowd of worshippers between him and harm."

"I'm surprised you didn't try to take Ser Addam away," Cersei said, ripping a piece of bread in half. Tyrion winced. Truth be told, he had wanted Ser Addam to lead sorties, but he'd asked for the Hound first, to test the waters. The queen had reacted very badly, accusing Tyrion of trying to leave her defenseless, and he'd dropped the matter.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Tyrion lied pleasantly. "He is devoted to Tommen, and our little king is more important than any sortie." At least he would have Ser Balon Swann to keep Stannis from crossing the Blackwater. The knight was eager to prove his gallantry, but reasonably cautious despite his youth.

For a while they ate in silence. Every dish was seasoned and cooked to perfection. The lamprey pie had a flaky, toothsome crust, the honeyed ham was just sweet enough; the carrots were tender and buttery. Yet with every bite Tyrion felt himself growing more anxious, his stomach turning to lead.

"Varys says there are more rumors about a red wolf in the riverlands," Tyrion commented, taking another gulp of wine. "Some nonsense about it rescuing lost children. There's even a song about how the wolf is secretly a beautiful maiden who watches over the smallfolk."

Cersei snorted, spearing an apple with her dagger. "And I suppose birds flock to her hand, and flowers grow beneath her feet?"

Tyrion took a sip of wine, waiting for the copper to drop. His patience was quickly rewarded.

"Sansa Stark," Cersei hissed, her face twisted by hatred. "The bitch is dead, or will wish she was if I ever get my hands on her."

"Doubtless you're right. I imagine we've Brynden Blackfish to thank for this bit of cunning. Nothing like a song to inspire men. Or terrify them," Tyrion smirked. Wielded properly, the Rains of Castamere was as threatening as a knife to the throat.

"I suppose," Cersei said, eating roast swan with small, vicious bites. "He must have never met the girl. Leading smallfolk?" Cersei laughed. "She'd be raped and dead within hours."

Her eyes glinted, as though the idea brought her great pleasure. She still believed Sansa was responsible for Joffrey's death, though she thought Littlefinger had somehow orchestrated the whole thing before spiriting Sansa away. It did bother Tyrion that he couldn't figure out who paid Trant, but what motive could Baelish possibly have? No one murdered a king just to have a chance at fucking a girl, no matter who her mother was.

"We've more recent treasons to worry over," Tyrion said. "These Antler Men, for one."

Cersei grew irritable as Tyrion answered her questions about the group of merchants and artisans plotting to help Stannis take the city.

"Why are we plagued with so many enemies? What injury have I ever done to these wretches?"

Tyrion bit his tongue, the coppery blood filling his mouth.

You fucked Jaime, presented your bastards as heirs to the throne, had Bran Stark thrown off a tower, killed Robert, lopped off Ned Stark's head, and started a riot over a harmless beggar. All you had to do was fuck Robert a few times, bear children with his look, and then fuck Jaime all you wanted while drinking moon tea. Then Stannis would not be marching on us, you selfish bitch.

"Perhaps the wretches share Stannis's hatred of whores," Tyrion said with a shrug. Cersei's lips drew back in a vicious smile.

"Unlike you," she purred. Tyrion shifted in his seat, unsettled by the glint of victory in her eyes.

"What?" Tyrion said stupidly. He shouldn't have drunk so much wine.

"Do you think you can fool me? I know you have a whore," she said. Tyrion's belly felt as if it were full of eels.

"Why should you care? I've never meddled in your affairs."

"Oh?" Cersei asked. "You've been scheming against me since the day you came to King's Landing. While Jaime rots in chains you sold Myrcella and sent Kevan away. You poisoned me so you could rule in my stead, you struck me for daring to defend my son, and now you plot with the High Septon to kidnap Tommen. Would you sell your own blood to Stannis? What was the price, lordship of Casterly Rock? A noble wife to birth a brood of hideous dwarfs?"

"This is madness, Cersei. The High Septon was only to spirit Tommen away if the city fell. A city can be retaken, so long as the king lives. And Stannis would never make such a bargain, you know that."

"No, he wouldn't," Cersei agreed. "But I will not have you betray me."

"I would never," Tyrion protested. "Stannis will be here in days, Cersei, and my ugly face on a spike will not frighten him away."

Cersei sighed. "No, I suppose not. And Jaime would never forgive me if I had you killed." Tyrion misliked her smile as the queen crossed the room, throwing open the door.

"Bring her in," Cersei ordered. Ser Mandon and the Hound stepped inside the room, and the Kettleblacks quickly followed. Osmund had a faint look of discomfort, but Osney and Osfryd's smiles were cruel as they dragged in the girl.

Her hands were bound with rope, her mouth gagged with a bloody cloth. One eye was black; the other half shut from dried blood that had trickled down her brow. So this was how the Kettleblacks had decided to win Cersei's favor. Tyrion wasn't sure whether he should clap them on the back or have Bronn slit their throats.

"I'm not sure I want to fuck her now," Tyrion said, trying to sound bored. "I prefer them undamaged."

"She fought," Osney said. His cheeks were marked with the scratches of her nails.

"If you're done with her, then I suppose I could have her delivered to the goldcloaks. Didn't father do something similar to your first whore?" Cersei laughed, and Tyrion's vision went red.

"Try it and I'll rape you myself," Tyrion hissed.

His sister's hand flashed at his face, but he caught her wrist and bent it back until she cried out. Ser Mandon and the Hound stepped forward, hands on their sword hilts.

"One more step and I'll break her arm," Tyrion said coldly. The Hound paused, but Ser Mandon kept coming. Never say I do not keep my word, sister , Tyrion thought, pulling Cersei's arm back until he heard something snap.

"Stop!" Cersei sobbed, and Ser Mandon froze, his eyes fixed on Tyrion.

"You are unfit to be a queen," Tyrion snarled, shoving Cersei to the floor. She shrieked as her broken arm hit the stones beneath the rushes. "Now, unless you want me to tell our father every single detail of your relationship with Jaime, you will release her."

Cersei's eyes blazed like wildfire as she cradled her broken arm. "You have no proof," she hissed.

"Oh? I've a dozen witnesses who'd beg to differ. A potboy, a guard, a wet nurse... and they all left the city weeks ago," Tyrion bluffed.

"The lowest scum, easily bribed," Cersei replied through gritted teeth. "Father will never believe you."

"Shall we test that theory?"

They said Tywin Lannister could cow men with his unflinching gaze, and Tyrion summoned every drop of hatred he could muster as he fixed his mismatched eyes on his sister. Cersei's face was red and drawn with pain, her teeth bared as she panted.

"Release the whore," Cersei spat. The Kettleblacks dropped the girl on the floor, her dark skin shining against the pale yellow rushes.

"You're safe," Tyrion said, untying the girl's hands and taking the gag from her mouth. "But I've no interest in bedding you again." Alayaya sniffled, her eyes wide as he helped her to her feet. She had nothing to do with this, she did Cersei no harm. Damn them all.

"Take her back to where you found her," Tyrion snapped. The Kettleblacks looked at him, then looked at Cersei.

"Do as he says," his sister snarled. "Ser Mandon, get Pycelle." Osmund picked Alayaya up, carrying her as if she were his bride, not a whore he'd kidnapped. Ser Mandon followed the Kettleblacks out of the room, his white armor gleaming.

"Help me up," Cersei growled at the Hound. Clegane bent and lifted Cersei carefully about the waist, setting her in her chair. Her arm flopped on the table grotesquely.

"I am not Ned Stark," Tyrion said. "I've served you well, better than you know, and these are my thanks? You may be my sister, but you're as stupid as you are cruel. Try me again, and I swear I'll choke the life from you."

As Cersei stared at him, her eyes so huge that the green was lost among the white, he prayed that she believed his bluff.